


Glorious

by meredyd



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meredyd/pseuds/meredyd
Summary: "You’re not giving a speech. I think you’re finally asking me to marry you.”





	

First she explains to the Paladins, who, and - Allura knows this, has expected this - do not fully grasp it. It must be taken piece by piece, put together slowly in its scope. That she’ll no longer be a Princess, their leader. Something larger, and less of the world. 

Pidge comes the closest, as Allura expects she might. She’s grown so steady in her inquisitive confidence sometimes Allura could even swear she’s taller. 

“You’re like a Goddess,” says Pidge, long hair swinging past her eyes as she turns to Hunk to confer. 

“Or-or not really, like the Balmera maybe, you’re not just a person anymore —“ he says. 

“When have any of us just been _people_ ,” Keith snaps, in the kind of mood they know now better than to argue with. 

“That gets at some of it,” Allura says, and oh, she’ll miss them, all of them like this, all of them equals as pilots and brothers-in-arms. But she’s always been elevated, and now she must ascend all the way.

She’s less sure of things, these last handful years, more so then ever in her life before the war. But the faith that she’d never let down all that Altea is now has stood firm within her. She will be whatever they, their alliances, whatever the memories of her people, need her to be. 

 

It’s a bad night for them both when she finally proposes to Shiro, much less romantic as inevitable. So many years of waiting and rebuilding, the devastation that the Galra had left everywhere, and they’ve never quite managed on themselves. At least now they can share the broken evening hours together, in the same bed, after half a decade of meetings in corridors, the slightest touches that couldn’t yet be more. 

Now, here is Shiro, un-asleep beside her, looking up at the vaulted ceiling of their castleship bedroom as if he could try hard enough and see straight through it, all the way out into the rest of the universe. In her half-focus and with his hair now gone white she could almost imagine him Altean, the person she would have married had things been so different. Maybe she wouldn’t have loved him, then. Did it matter?

Allura sits up straight, firm-backed, as if she is about to address council. It could be something like nervousness, but it’s not. It’s nothing she can even think of the name for. 

“ _Shiro_ ,” Allura says, full of inexpressible tenderness. “ _Shiro_.”

Shiro makes a noise like he really was asleep which nearly makes her laugh. “We need to talk.”

“We do,” he says, because he’s smart, and it’s been days since they’ve said much of anything to each other. It almost makes her nostalgic. 

“I,” she begins. Like giving a speech. Act like they - he - means nothing to you, when really he means everything. That’s always been the key. “I can rule alone, and I have, we both know that. But at this point it’s simpler to have you by my side, don’t you think?”

That’s always been how you risk death. 

Allura reaches through the sheets, her hand rests gently on his, the right, against where warm metal meets his flesh. They’ve both so many scars now, criss-crossing their bodies, reminders. 

“Princess,” says Shiro, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Stop stalling. You’re not giving a speech. I think you’re finally asking me to marry you.”

“I’m asking you to marry Altea,” Allura says. “I’m asking you for much more than you realize now. And I know you’ll say yes for the good of the team, the world. I’d do the same.”

She’s had the ring made weeks ago. It would traditionally be a dark-reddish pink, but black feels right for them, and the Lion they’d now both had the great honor to pilot. Perfectly smooth and round, glinting in the curved lamps. 

Shiro takes it up from where it sits between them, turns it this way and that, an artifact to be appreciated before it can be enjoyed. 

And he’s already put it on when she’s kissing him like she’s waited much longer than this, every kiss before somehow an echo of now, of her hunger to finally let go of what was her burden alone, making herself a little larger so she can hold all of him in her arms. Their hands together, white-knuckled, tight in the vastness of what it means. 

“Say yes for _you_ ,” says Allura, breathlessly, and he does.


End file.
